Pam's Sick Day
by get-a-grip38
Summary: Pam needs a break from life at the office, so she fakes sick. Too bad DunderMifflin can't function properly without her. Slight JAM.
1. Chapter 1

Pam's Sick Day 

Rating: K+

Summary: Pam decides to fake sick one day. Set during Season 2.

This is my first story about The Office. Please review!

Disclaimer: I wish the Office was mine... does that count for anything?

* * *

When her alarm went off a little after seven, Pam was already deep in thought. She really didn't want to go to work today. 

There was no real reason for not wanting to go to work. Nothing particularly bad had happened the day before, but nothing particularly good either. Michael wasn't in an especially good mood-which was generally worse than Michael in a bad mood- and Dwight wasn't any more obnoxious than usual. Pam's tasks as receptionist were not exceptionally tedious yesterday. She just didn't feel like going and dealing with all the people. She just needed a break. Was that so much to ask?

Unfortunately, she was trying to save her vacation days to actually try to take a vacation, and unfortunately, it was her job. She couldn't just not show up. That would be bad. They might fire her. Although, probably not after the first offense. But knowing Michael, he would want to know what she was doing all day, and Dwight would accuse her of not being loyal to Dunder-Mifflin…

And one day off would not be worth the effort the next day would require.

So reluctantly, Pam turned off the alarm and slowly got out of bed.

Pam was pouring her morning cup of coffee when the idea dawned on her. It was a brilliant idea, and she was shocked that it had never occurred to her before. So simple, yet so ingenious.

She could fake sick.

Yes, Pam could! After all, she was qualified: had she not seen Ferris Beuller's Day Off once or twice before? Dunder-Mifflin could get by without her for one day, couldn't they? She could maybe go out for breakfast-there was this new diner she'd been wanting to visit- and then run some errands, get a start on her Christmas shopping, and then work on her painting….

Or, of course, Pam could just get back into her nice, warm bed and fall back to sleep. When she woke up later, she could just turn on the TV and watch whatever was on. Game shows, soap operas, and infomercials, bring it on. And if she got hungry, well, there were a few microwaveable meals in the freezer. Best of all, there would be no Dunder-Mifflin, no Michael, no anybody but Pam.

It could be a stress-free day.

For a fraction of a second, Pam almost discarded the idea. It's not like there was anything so horrible about her work. There was nothing illegal (mostly), and everyone was nice to her (again, mostly). But she would feel a little bit bad about lying. After all, she would be lying to everyone. Lying is bad. Would Pam be able to look them in the eye tomorrow, knowing that she had deliberately lied?

Yes. Yes, she would.

Pam quickly snatched the phone off the counter, and dialed the number of the branch before she could change her mind. When her own pre-recorded greeting and instructions played, she quickly dialed Michael's extension.

"Top 'o the mornin' to you!" Michael exclaimed, in salutation.

Pam was momentarily surprised; it was early for Michael to be at work. Pam took a deep breath, and then spoke. "Michael, it's Pam," she began, in her very best scratchy-throat voice.

"Pam! Where are you? Why aren't you at your desk? Did you car break down? Do you need me to send Ryan to come get you?"

"No, Michael, that's… No. I'm just calling to let you know-" Pam broke off, fake coughing. "Sorry. I just wanted to ask if it was okay if I stayed home sick today."

"You're sick?" Michael asked. "You sure sound sick."

"Yes. I think maybe it's Strep throat or something," Pam offered, coughing again. "My throat feels like sandpaper, and I keep coughing, and I think I might have a fever."

"Yikes. Wouldn't want to spread that around the ol' office," Michael said. "Go ahead and take today off. Take tomorrow too, if you need it. Take however long you need."

"Thanks, Michael. I knew you'd understand," Pam replied gratefully.

"Okay. Bye now."

"Bye Michael." Pam set the phone down. For a moment, she had a serious look on her face as she contemplated her actions. Then she began to grin broadly. She couldn't resist doing a triumphant fist pump. Not only had she lied and gotten out of work, but it felt good.

The day was hers.

* * *

"Michael, we have a problem," Dwight announced, striding into Michael's office boldly. 

Michael looked up from his computer quickly. "Jeez, Dwight! Doesn't anyone knock anymore?"

Dwight paused. "I can go back and knock, if you'd like," he offered, gesturing back towards the door.

Michael sighed dramatically. "Never mind. Come here." When Dwight had walked around Michael's desk and was standing behind him, Michael continued. "I'm at this costume website, Costumes-R-Us, and I just can't decide what to get. Which of these do you think would be a better Halloween costume?"

"Halloween was two months ago," Dwight pointed out.

"Duh, Dwight! I know that. This is for next year. I have to get a jump on the competition."

"What competition?"

"Forget it. Forget it Dwight. Just get out. Out of my office."

"No! I can help!" Dwight insisted, leaning in over Michael's shoulder. "What are they?"

"Zeus, and Henry the VIII." The Regional Manager explained, pointing to a picture of a toga and a medieval-looking outfit.

Dwight stared at the computer screen for a moment, considering the two pictures. "Neither," he pronounced.

"What do you mean, neither?" Michael demanded. "These are both great costumes!"

Dwight gasped slightly. "You know what you should be?" He asked, excitedly.

"What? What could possibly be better than these?"

"One word." Dwight held up one finger. "Balrog."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Balrog."

"What the heck is a Balrog?" The Regional Manager asked, genuinely confused.

"A Balrog is a dark, fiery demon that lives in Moria! It's the perfect costume!" Dwight explained, eyes dancing.

"Eww, Dwight, no. Never."

"C'mon, it's a great idea!"

"No. No it's not."

"Well, what's so awesome about Henry the VIII, anyway?"

"Dude, Dwight, he had like, seven wives."

"I thought it was six."

"Still. Six wives. He should be an inspiration to us all." Michael paused, considering the costumes. "Eh, I'll get 'em both and decide later. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Dwight straightened, reminded of his initial purpose. "It's about Pam."

"What about her?"

"She's not here," Dwight pointed out.

"Why don't you tell me something I don't know."

"You already know she's not here?"

"Pfft. Of course. She called in sick."

"I find that highly suspicious."

"Really." Michael was not surprised.

"This may come as a shock to you Michael, but I'm not convinced that she's very loyal to this company."

"Dwight-"

"Why don't we call her, and see what she's really up to," Dwight suggested, reaching for the phone.

"Dwight, no-"

Dwight pressed a few buttons, and as the phone began to ring, he pressed the speaker phone function.

* * *

Pam was snuggled up with a blanket on her couch when the phone rang. She glanced at the call I.D., and sighed. She grabbed the remote, and muted "The Price Is Right". "Hello?" Pam croaked, resuming her phony sick voice. 

"Hey, Pam-o-rama! It's Michael-"

"-And Dwight!"

"And Dwight. Feeling any better?"

Pam rolled her eyes. "Not really. Actually, I was asleep when you called."

"You know, maybe you should go see a doctor." Her boss suggested.

"I think I'll be okay. I think I'll just wait for it to pass," Pam said.

"Not smart. I read about this one guy in Illinois the other day. He thought he just had a cold, and decided not to seek medical attention. Two days later, he was dead."

"Right…"

"Don't listen to him, Pam. I'm sure you're going to be just fine in a couple of days," Michael assured her.

"Yeah, unless you have bird flu."

"Bird flu?" Pam echoed, before coughing.

"Yeah. Then you're pretty much screwed."

Michael ignored Dwight. "What are your symptoms, Pam?"

"My throat, I guess."

"What about it?" Dwight wanted to know.

"It hurts," she replied.

"Anything else?" Michael inquired.

"My head…"

"What about it?" Dwight repeated.

"It hurts. And my nose is stuffy."

"WedMD says it's definitely a cold," Dwight announced.

Suddenly, Pam had an idea. "And there are these weird boils on my arms…" she added, trying not to laugh.

"Oh my God. Michael, I think she has small pox!" Dwight cried.

"Dwight, don't be an-"

"We have to tell everyone! We must be quarantined!"

"Dwight-"

In the background, Pam heard Dwight yell, "Attention, all Dunder-Mifflin employees!"

"Oh, wait," Pam said slowly. "Those are just freckles."

"False alarm! Everyone, please, sit back down," Michael called. To Pam, he said, "I'll check back in a little bit."

"Okay, Michael."

Right before Pam hung up, she heard Dwight say something about contacting the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. She rolled her eyes, and went back to watching television.

* * *

Soooo? Please review :) 

Coming Soon: Chapter 2


	2. Chapter 2

Pam's Sick Day, Chapter 2

Rating: K+

Elly10: Thanks for your review! It's always great to know that someone appreciates your work :)

It took me a little longer to get this chapter up than I'd hoped; sorry about that. After this, there's just one more chapter. Chapter three should be up sometime in the next week, depending on whether or not my computer decides to work.

* * *

It seemed like it violated every single on of his principles, but for once, Jim was actually eager to get to work. While at first glance this seemed as though it could only be the result of a severe head injury, in reality, it was the result of a wonderful revelation. Jim had been running around his house, trying to find his bag-and if he didn't find it soon, he was going to be late- when it dawned on him. The perfect prank, involving acrylic paint and a pair of glasses that looked like Dwight's! 

Naturally he couldn't wait to let Pam in on it.

Unfortunately, once Jim got to work, it quickly became apparent that Pam was not coming to work that day. Ryan was sitting at her desk (and was most likely more than a little frightened by the uncharacteristically enthusiastic expression on Jim's face as he stepped in). Jim quickly dropped the spirited grin. "Morning," he greeted Ryan.

Ryan nodded in return. "Hey."

"So where's Pam?" Jim asked casually, leaning over the reception desk.

Ryan shrugged. "Michael said she has some kind of cold, wanted me to cover for the day. You don't happen to know where Pam keeps the Weekly Sales Reports, do you?"

"Sorry, no idea." Jim continued on to his desk. Having no other alternative, Jim sat down in his chair, and deposited his bag under his desk. For a moment, he looked around the office with a lost expression on his face, as though he didn't quite know what he was supposed to be doing there. Pam wasn't there. Huh. It was a strange concept, one that took him a few minutes to wrap his mind around. Not that Jim couldn't get through the day with out her; no, he could manage. He'd done it before, after all. It would just be a slow day for him. A slow, boring, dreadful day.

But he could definitely manage.

Jim glanced down at his desk, on which was sitting a small pile of paperwork. Picking up a pen and sighing, Jim began to fill out the paperwork. Thus went Jim's day. Paperwork, sales calls, the works. Around ten thirty, Dwight ran out of Michael's office yelling something about small pox, which caused some minor chaos, but aside from that, it had all the makings of a dull, uninteresting, ordinary day.

* * *

Pam was in the middle of painting her toenails when the phone rang. She sighed, but set the brush back into the bottle of dark pink nail polish. She had all day, after all; there was no reason to rush. Pam took a moment to summon her "sick voice" before answering the phone. "Hello?" 

"Hey, Pam. It's Ryan."

"Oh, hi Ryan," Pam replied. What on earth could Ryan need badly enough to call her at home when she was allegedly sick?

"I heard you're sick."

Pam coughed. "Yeah. My throat's killing me."

"That's too bad," Ryan said, trying to sound sympathetic. "You're not sick enough to miss more than one day, though, right?"

"Why?"

"No reason. So how long do you think you'll be out?"

"I'll probably be back tomorrow."

"That's good."

"Oh?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, I just don't think I'm cut out to be a receptionist," Ryan said finally.

"It's a lot harder than it looks, huh?"

"Yeah. Especially being Michael's receptionist."

Pam nodded understandingly, even though she knew Ryan couldn't see. "Has he done anything horrible today?"

"Not really, I guess. I gave him some papers to sign earlier, and he returned them about an hour and a half later."

"That's actually not too bad."

"He signed them in pink highlighter."

"Oh."

"And he keeps calling me on his cell phone, asking me if my refrigerator's running."

Pam was starting to feel a little bad. Had she been at work, Ryan would have been spared most of this abuse. His skin probably wasn't as thick as hers. She was, after all, far more used to Michael's antics, having worked at Dunder-Mifflin for years before Ryan. Not wanting her new guilt to ruin her day, Pam faked a violent coughing fit to get off the phone as quickly as possible. "Ryan, I need to go," she got out between fake coughs.

"Wait! I didn't get a chance to ask! Where are the-"

"Bye!" Pam hung up the phone quickly. She set the phone down, and picked up the nail polish brush. It was nice to be able to take a day to focus on herself, Pam reminded herself to dispel the guilt. After all, the only thing Pam did during the week was look after other people. Make sure Michael does a little work, help whoever called, entertain Jim. Not that she minded entertaining Jim. He made sure she had her share of smiles during the workday, too. But it was always nice to pamper oneself.

Pam leisurely finished her right foot, even waiting to apply a second coat. Just as she was about to start on her fingers, the phone rang again.

"Hello?" Pam asked, getting irritated. Who could it be now? Were they aware that they were preventing her from enjoying her day of R&R?

"Pam! Glad I caught you." The sound of her boss' voice issued forth from the phone. Of course. She should have expected this.

"Michael, what's-"

"How're you doing?" he asked.

"Okay, I guess." Pam did her best to sound absolutely miserable.

"Still sick, huh?"

"Yes."

"What are your symptoms again?"

"Sore throat, headache, cough, runny nose," Pam listed, ticking them off on her fingers.

"Uh huh, uh huh…" Michael said slowly. Pam suspected that he was writing them down. "You should take some medicine. Some cough syrup, or some-"

"I did, Michael," Pam assured him. "But it didn't really help."

"Uh huh. Well, try eating some soup. Soup always seems to help."

"Sure Michael."

"Oh! And take a nice long shower. Always helps me when I'm a little under the weather. Nothing like a nice, long, hot, steamy shower to fight the cold!"

Somehow, being ordered by her boss to take a long shower struck Pam as awkward. Awkward enough that she wanted nothing more than to be off the phone as quickly as possible. As she had to get Ryan to hang up, Pam faked a coughing fit. "Michael, I have to go."

"All right. Get better soon!" Michael ordered playfully.

"Bye Michael." Pam hung up, and leaned back against her couch, exasperated. Before picking up the nail polish brush again, Pam, not wanting anyone else to disturb her on her off day, disconnected her land line phone and turned off her cell with a sigh. Now no one from work could bother her again today.

* * *

Around eleven thirty, Dwight came back from his lunch break carrying a large bag from the local drugstore. "Attention, everyone!" Dwight called, setting the bag on the receptionist's desk. "As some of you may know, Pam is out with some as of yet unidentified illness. I feel that it would be prudent to take preventative measures to prevent becoming sick. Therefore, I have purchased hand sanitizer and sterile face masks for everyone." Dwight set a small bottle and a mask on Ryan's desk, before moving over to the accountants and distributing the materials. 

"That was awfully generous of you Dwight," Jim remarked as Dwight tossed a mask towards him, "buying some for everybody."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't just being nice. If someone else here develops the disease, my chances of getting it are also greatly increased," Dwight explained shrewdly.

"Right…" Jim trailed off, lacking words to adequately respond to the situation. Then something occurred to him. "Hey, I thought you never get sick?"

"There's a first time for everything, Jim. I assume we'd all rather not die because of some disease Pam dragged in, so these are necessary measures," Dwight explained, placing hand sanitizer and masks on Phyllis and Stanley's desks.

"You know what happens when you assume, right?" Jim asked, leaning back and spinning in his swivel chair so that he could continue to face Dwight.

"No, what?"

Unfortunately, Jim did not get a chance to answer because just then Michael stuck his head out of his office. "Dwight, what are you doing?" He demanded.

Dwight strode quickly over to Michael. "In light of Pam's illness, I bought masks and hand sanitizer for everyone." Dwight handed him a mask and two bottles of hand sanitizer. "Here, have some."

"We don't need masks and hand sanitizer to keep us from getting sick," Michael stated. "Pam's going to be fine. We're going to be fine. I just spoke to her, and it still seems like a cold."

"Fine, take chances with your health if you want," Dwight said. "But who's going to run Dunder-Mifflin Scranton if you get sick?"

Michael looked around at all the other employees, who were watching this transaction with interest, before looking back at Dwight. "That's what I have an Assistant Regional Manager for," Michael answered slowly.

Dwight gasped slightly. "You mean, I could run the branch?" Michael nodded. "Yes!" Dwight hissed, doing a small fist pump. "As Assistant Regional Manager, I order everyone except Michael to utilize their disease prevention equipment!" He announced to the office. Some put their masks on, some groaned in protest, and some were never listening in the first place.

* * *

Shortly after returning from his lunch break, Jim decided to give Pam a call. He was sure she was fine, but… it couldn't hurt to call, right? Jim figured she would appreciate knowing that people at the office cared. Besides, if she was really sick, it might be a good thing if someone checked in to make sure she was okay, in case she was sick enough that she needed to go to a doctor or something.

Jim dialed her cell phone number first. For all that he had only called her cell a handful of times, he knew the number by heart. Unfortunately, his call went straight to voice mail. "Congratulations! You successfully located my voice mail. Leave a message and I'll call you back," Pam's voice instructed, before the beep.

Deciding not to leave a message, Jim hung up. A swift glance towards his deskmate revealed that Dwight was staring at him. "Can I help you?" Jim inquired, a little concerned by Dwight's attention.

"You're not wearing your mask," Dwight pointed out, not breaking eye contact.

Jim glanced down at his mask, which was perched between his keyboard and his computer monitor. "You're right."

"As your superior, I order you to put on your mask."

"First, you can't 'order me' to do anything," Jim said, using his fingers to make quotation marks. "Second, you forgot the magic word."

"As your superior, I order you to put on your mask," Dwight repeated. "Please."

"Since you asked so nicely, I think I will." Jim reached for his mask, and deftly pulled the elastic string over his head, adjusting the mask so that it completely covered his nose and mouth. "There," Jim said, satisfied.

Dwight, however, was not satisfied. "What is that on your mask?" Dwight demanded.

"What is what?" Jim tilted his mask up away from his mouth to better see the two black dot and a curved line in the middle of his otherwise white mask. "That, if I'm not mistaken, is a smiley face."

"Why did you draw a face on your mask?"

"What makes you so certain that I drew it?"

"Because it's your mask, Jim!" Dwight snapped. "Why would you deliberately deface something that could save your life?"

Jim shrugged. "It needed a special something. To make it stand out from the other masks."

Dwight stood up. "Excuse me," he began, projecting his voice so that everyone could hear. "Jim Halpert has decided to vandalize his mask. Have any of you chosen to maim your masks as well?"

For a moment, everyone merely stared at Dwight. Then, tentatively, Kelly stood. "I didn't maim it or anything," she said rapidly. "I just gave it a little… pizzazz." Kelly held up her mask, which had tiny pink sequins glued around the edge. "I didn't know we weren't supposed to," she added apologetically.

"Consider this your first and only warning! No more vandalizing of masks will be tolerated," Dwight announced, before sitting back down.

* * *

Over at the accountants' corner, Angela was the only one wearing her mask. "Look, it can't hurt to wear them," she pointed out, glancing disapprovingly at Kevin and Oscar. 

"We were around Pam all day yesterday, Angela. We've all ready been exposed. Putting on masks and sterilizing the workplace is not going to prevent us from getting sick," Oscar stated, not glancing away from his computer screen.

"Fine, don't wear them," she said. "But if you get some horrible illness, don't look to me to cover your workload."

"Excuse me."

All the accountants turned to look at Phyllis, who was standing near their desks holding a card with a picture of a small dog on it. "This is a get-well-soon card that I got for Pam," Phyllis explained. "I thought it might be nice if everyone signed it." She handed the card to Oscar, who quickly scrawled his name on the inside. Oscar then passed it to Kevin, who signed and passed it back to Oscar.

"Angela?" Oscar offered, extending the card towards her.

Angela glanced at the picture of the dog. "That dog's eyes are crossed. It looks like it's possessed by the devil."

"I thought it looked cute…" Phyllis offered. "Never mind. It was a stupid idea."

"I'll sign, I'll sign." Angela snatched the card and wrote her name in neat letters. "I just think you could have picked a better card," she added as she handed it back to Phyllis.

"Thank you," Phyllis murmured, almost inaudibly, before walking away and retreating to the safety of her desk.

"What?" Angela asked, as both Oscar and Kevin stared at her.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Reviews are always welcome. 

Third and final chapter coming up.


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